Lesson Well Learned
by Lyr i'Maire
Summary: Erik reminisces amidst the ruins of his former life.


Author: Lyric

Fandom: POTO

Pair: implied Erik/Christine; implied Raoul/Christine

World: Works for any, but primarily thought of as being movie-ish

Music I Listened to While Writing: Lionel Richie's "Is It Me You're Looking For", end to "Stuck On You"

Rating: none, as it needs none

Disclaimer: if I owned it, it would have worked out differently.

I stand completely still for a brief moment, taking in the ruin about me. Then, shifting forward to take a step, I wince with tangible pain at the sound of crunching glass beneath my foot. I look all about me, at the shreds of paper that litter the ground, at the shards of broken glass, at the bent and twisted candelabra… Remembering. For, that is all that is left to me, the memories of what had come to pass in these few months. Slowly, I turn and shift my way through the debris to a once beautiful pipe organ. Its formerly proud pipes seem as mangled as the candelabra. The bench that had stood before it at one time lies several meters off to one side; I don't bother to retrieve it. I reach a shaking hand out, caressing the grimy keys with tenderness.

How many times since coming to this city had I sat here? How many of my works lay scattered in pieces in this very room? How long had it been since last she had graced this room with her presence? The last was the only I could say with certainty. Five hundred and eighty-seven days, ten hours, and—I glanced at my new pocket watch—forty minutes.

I had seen much of her since returning to the Paris. Her and her husband. They spent much time in their city apartment. Before coming to my former residence this morning, I had managed to glimpse her in the prior evening. She looked so… alive. She glowed with happiness and health, the look any expectant mother might have. Even now, thinking on it, my heart squeezes with all too familiar pain, an ache that has resided in my chest for over a year and a half. But I suppress the sensation; It does not do one any good to dwell on the past. She is happy, a thought that gives me more joy than any other ever could.

This was a thing I had realized when first I had to release her. It had come down to that very moment and I held all the cards. Her precious lover was snared, and there was nowhere for her to run. As the tears streamed down her face she looked from his face to mine, once, twice… Her eyes were laced with several emotions all at once, fear, confusion, and love among other, lesser feelings. It pained me to see her innocent face so contorted. But I had to know. She had to choose, and this was the only way I knew to force her decision. Deep inside of me, in whatever meager amount of soul I possessed, I realized what her choice would be. My stubborn pride suppressed it, twisting and convincing some part of me that she would pick me in the end.

Then suddenly she turned to me with firm resignation in those deep brown orbs. She had indeed decided on me! Victory sang wholeheartedly within me when she pressed her lips to mine in near desperation. Briefly she looked into my eyes, and I thought I saw a glimmer of love there. When her lips returned to caress mine once more I even believed it. Yet, my stubborn nature had broken, succumbed to the undeniable truth of the circumstance.

She chose me for love of him, to save him. It did not matter that somewhere inside her she loved me somehow, she loved him so greatly that she would spend her life in a dank, dark cave under the ground if it meant saving _him_. Would she ever have done such a thing for me? Would the thought ever have crossed her mind? Perhaps, though not here, not now. Right now she was his. I cried without shame when I made _my_ choice. He could make her happy, give her a life that, I, despite my own vast resources, could never give her as I knew he would. She was too young, too fragile for my world, let alone the fact that she did not know me as she knew him. I resigned myself to the fact.

"Take her," I had said. "Take her and forget all of this." That would be my gift to the couple. A wedding gift, if you will. That with my last bit of glamour, I might be able to force the memories from their heads, give them a bit of peace to start their new life. After all, some would say I owed it to them. I certainly agree with that.

So they escaped and, I, after… redecorating a little, proceeded to leave as well.

After that time I wandered the country for a while, never staying long in one place. Seven months after that, I gave the continent a tour, though I had already seen so much of it. And yet, this instance was different somehow. My time with her had instilled in me a curiosity about the day. Having been so mistreated by it I was hesitant at first, as a person that had once been bitten reaches out to a dog for the first time in years. Bit by bit, I became almost rehabilitated to it. I was always careful to be alone in these little instances, not wishing to encounter the ill will of a stranger in my search for seclusion. The sunlight, I found, felt like the warm caress of her hand. And so it was in my return to the day that I forgave her and I forgave him, though they did not need such from me, in truth.

Much time did I pass in this manner until one day I woke knowing in my heart I was meant to return. The sunlight in the city had not the appreciation for me as the country light, so it was under cover of darkness that I stole back onto my old stage. I made arrangements for a long –term stay, paying for an apartment nearby. Then I looked for them, curiosity having gotten the better of me.

It was only when I saw them together that my hopes were affirmed. They were indeed astonishingly jubilant in their own circumstances. I could have asked nothing more for her than that.

I stand from my crouch before the organ, surveying the cavernous room once more, seeing the memories as they flash before my eyes. I feel still a twinge of sorrow for the way events acted themselves out, all that could and should have gone differently. But I have finally made peace with them. A tear rolls down my ravaged cheek, but it is not sorrowful, nor hateful. It is a tear of peaceful, satisfied happiness, the likes of which only experience gives.


End file.
